


Be The Cougar

by Reddwarfer



Category: Red Dwarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/pseuds/Reddwarfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace has a few more lessons for Arnold to learn before he can become the next Ace Rimmer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be The Cougar

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Nessa and Katilara for the beta. This story has a line or two from Stoke Me A Clipper from season seven.
> 
> Written for Sebastienne

 

 

Arnold sighed as he sat down on the bunk. The training in the AR unit was an absolute disaster. Un-smegging-believable. What bloody cougars and mountain ranges had to do with poncing around in an outfit that would be too extreme even for the Cat was beyond his comprehension.

There was more nancing around in the forest after their mountain adventure, followed by a sojourn to an endless desert for more pointlessness. It would have been better if he spent his time memorising the Life and Times of Liberace. 

Lister entered the quarters, then, leaning against the door with that stupid, gerbil-faced grin of his. He had a can of lager. "Where's Ace?"

"I dunno. Off fixing his suspenders?" Arnold's face pinched into a grimace. He wondered if wearing frilly knickers was a part of the Ace dress code.

"Come off it, Rimmer," Lister said, sighing and acting like he wasn't the idiotic, immature smegger that tried to urinate on him off the side of D-deck last month. "He's trying to help you."

Not able to think of anything to say in response, Arnold simply sneered. No one else had to put up with some ridiculous alternate version themselves who happened to be living the life they only wished they could. Bastards. Why did Lister care anyhow?

"I should probably go. Don't want to interrupt." Lister tossed his can and left. 

It was only moments before Ace reentered the room with something tucked under his arms. He was slumped against the wall in pain. Arnold wondered if Ace needed help. Pointedly, he stayed put, watching as Ace struggled back over to the bunk.

"Arnie, we need to discuss something rather...pressing," Ace said, grimacing in pain.

Arnold raised an eyebrow at that and crossed his arms across his chest. "If it's anything to do with matching undersets, I want nothing to do with it."

There was an expression on Ace's face that told Arnold that whatever Ace was going to say next, he wouldn't like it. Well, that wasn't strictly fair since he didn't like looking at any expression on Ace's face.

Ignoring him, Ace continued, "Not only does Ace Rimmer have to be brave, handsome, and all around magnificent, he also has to charm the panties off all the beautiful ladies that will inevitably throw themselves at him.

Oh, dear god, it was worse than he thought. 

"What?" Arnold replied, hating the way his voice squeaked like it had all throughout his first two years of high school.

"You need to learn how to charm women, Arn. It's the only way. So, what do you say, old soldier, what's the count?"

"Count?" Arnold repeated, not quite knowing how to process telling this version of himself his own sexual experience.

"You know what I mean, Arn." Ace pressed. The only thing that kept Arnold from punching him in his smarmy face-aside from the fact that he was a coward-was that Ace wasn't enjoying his discomfort.

"Well, there's so much of it I scarcely have the time for proper review," he hedged, hoping to leave it at that. The thought of having to admit that his experience with women was limited to a miserable encounter with a concussed boxer, a pixilated version of said boxer in an AR game, and being oiled for torture by two evil seductresses who had erupted from the very nature of his mind was beyond anything he could reasonably tolerate. The few days aboard the Enlightenment with Commander Crane were securely locked in the deep recesses of his brain.

Ace stared at him for a moment before giving him that wide, cheesy grin. "All right, there, Arn. Let's get started. There're only four things you need to know about girls."

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm in a modern retelling of _Glen or Glenda_."

Ignoring him once again, Ace started yammering on incomprehensibly about treating girls with respect, complimenting their shoes, and how to leave in the morning without giving them a phone number.

"There's something to be said for the old-time tortures. Bamboo shoots. The Rack. Lister's music collection," Arnold commented as Ace pointed to the diagram of erogenous zones on a woman's body. 

"Arn, concentrate," Ace said, pointing to the inner ankle. "This is another key to becoming your _destiny_."

" _Fine_ ," Arnold groaned, not even bothering to argue. Perhaps if he got through this, he could go on to the next impossible lesson.

"Now, it's time for the final and most important test," Ace said, voice pompous and smarmy, as it was wont to be. 

Ace pushed a chair in front of him. It had a frilly bra stretched across it. Arnold smirked. "From your personal collection?" 

Ace grinned at him as he tossed a length of fabric in Arnold's lap. "To become Ace you need to be able to unhook it with one hand and...blindfolded."

" _Blindfolded?_ Why blindfolded?" Arnold asked, voice going up two octaves.

"You hardly think you'll be sticking your face up the back of a girl's jumper, do you?"

Personally, he doubted he'd be in the position to remove anyone's bra, at all, ever. The only situation in which he figured the skill might be useful wouldn't come for another fifty years in deep space when Lister needed changing. 

Placing the blindfold over his eyes, Arnold frowned. It was like a bad flashback to his days at Io House.

"Go on, Arnie, you can do it," Ace encouraged. God, he was unbearable. 

Arnold felt around to the chair, trying to think back to when Lister imparted his wisdom on the subject. If that curry-addled smeghead could do it, he should be able to...

He blindly felt along the lace and the fabric and felt a knobby area. He tried to get his fingers to move, but all he ended up doing was snapping his fingers. 

Arnold tried again, determined, and managed to tug the clasp down only to have it bounce back up and hit him in the face. How typical.

His third try ended with the bra strap wrapped around his arm, him on his arse and the chair on top of him. Tugging off the blindfold, he found that Ace was staring down at him with that awful pitying expression he seemed to reserve just for him. "That's it. Can we _please_ go back to the cougars?" he asked, peevish, and added under his breath, "Preferably ones that aren't computer simulated."

The end.

 


End file.
